Drosselmeyers life
by blackprinses7
Summary: Why does Drosselmeyer write tragedies? And who is princess Tutu really? AhiruxMythos and DrosselmeyerxTutu


Tick. Tick. Tick, Drosselmeyer tapped with his fingers on the bar. He had just finished reading the menu on the counter for the fifth time and he was playing with his empty glass.

"What can I get for you, handsome?"

He looked up at the woman behind the bar. She had thick red curls rolling down her back, her shoulders were broad and she had tattoos on her abnormally big arms.

She was cleaning a glass with a small towel, what looked like it had never been washed before, while looking at him.

"A bottle of wisky, please". He was not planning on going anywhere soon.

Drosselmeyer knew he was considered handsome by some women.

He had dark brown short hair, greenish eyes with yellow dots and a muscular body.

He took a sip from the glass the woman gave him.

"I believe my eyes are deceiving me, bloody hell, is it really you Hendrich?"

He wasn't happy to say he knew this dark voice.

"You're not even going to greet your own brother who just came here all the way from England just to see how his favorite brother is doing?"

"What do you want, Ronald?"

"How is your wify?"

"I'm not married to that woman, she is nothing but a doll."

"Still calling your wife weird names, aren't you?

What happened? Did she run away, just like your friends did?"

Drosselmeyer balled his hands up into fists.

"What do you know about marriage, never once have you been engaged to a women."

His brother shot him a glare. A fake smile appeared on his lips.

"What is it with you and women? Look over there, it seems you have an admirer."

His brother pointed at the woman that was now walking towards him.

No, she wasn't walking, she was gracefully dancing, placing one foot before the other. Her hair was red, but not dark, so he decided to call it orange. She was wearing this beautiful white tutu, which made her look almost like an angel.

"Hi, I'm Ronald" his brother said before she could even open her mouth.

She ignored his brother and carefully sat down next to him.

She looked breakable, yes, that was probably the best way to describe her, a porcelain doll with the dress of a ballerina.

"I heard you write stories" she said sweetly, her voice was barely a whisper.

"Not anymore" He answered while refusing to look at her directly. He poured himself an other drink.

"Oo, you don't" the girl looked away from his face. How could a voice contain so much sadness to much sorrow and disappointment?

"That's because his stories are horrible and dark. No one wants to read them and it is said that the people who do are cursed" his brother was so friendly to point out.

"Nonsense" he looked at the girl, who was staring down at her hands, fragile hands, carefully folded together on her lap.

"What is the reason?" There was a certain firmness in her voice what made him shiver.

"What is the reason you don't write anymore, herr Drosselmeyer?".

Hendrich stood abruptly, "Don't call me that" he spat at her. He quickly made his way to the door.

A loud "BAM" was heard as he closed it behind him. Drosselmeyer pulled his hood over his head and went home. Leaving nothing he loved but the rain behind.

It was not until September that he saw her again. He went to the ballet with his date Misses Kaltwasser. She had black hair and a pale white skin. And she was rich, very rich. She had paid him a lot of money to make her friends believe she was dating him. And the only reason he was going to the ballet with her was because he needed the money and he refused to ask his brother for any.

It was not a shock when he saw her. After all he had already discovered that she was a ballerina, not that he cared though. What did shock him, was the way she looked, ill and very thin. The people loved her of course. They threw flowers at her as she danced a pas de deux with her partner. It made him angry for some reason. At the sound of the last note she fainted and the curtains closed before he could see her partner trying to catch her before she hit the ground.

He went to see her in November after he heard form his lifeless 'wife' that there was a rumor about her having syphilis. Which he thought it to be untrue, but he wanted to check on her anyway. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, he had even jelled at Edel. He never jelled at her after all she was just a story gone wrong. A dull doll, getting angry or not, it wouldn't effect her at all.

So he went to see the ballerina, her name drawn at the poster was Tutu, it was an uncommon name and probably fake.

She was sitting on the edge of her hospital bed looking at him, it was scary how beautiful she was. She smiled for him, stupid woman.

"It's not syphilis" she told him right away, there was no need to say hello.

"Yeah, I know" he said and he wondered what the last time was he had used that tone to anyone. Such a gentle way of speaking was unknown to him.

"They don't know what it is" her lips trembled, "And I wanted to at least know what I would die from you know?" A tear rolled down her cheek. Her whole body shaking

He sat down in a chair next to the poor looking bed.

"So I thought I would dance and dance and dance and die from dancing, which is silly right?"

For the first time he looked her into her eyes and felt something move inside of him.

"A story" he said and he knew it was to late to take it back. He had made this mistake before. Stupid. The girl looked hopeful.

"I'll write you a story". A small smiled played on her lips as he walked away.

Before he closed the door he heard her let out a small "thank you".

Of course he couldn't help falling in love with the woman who lived under his roof.

She saw life as an adventure, as something magical.

Weird enough Edel treated her as she would have treated her sister and Edel seemed happy with this role. What made him wonder if her story was beginning to wear off.

Tutu, still claiming that that was her name, still danced on stage. It was something she loved, something he wouldn't want to take away from her.

She danced for him as well, and it made him happy to see her so lively. He might not have been able to prevent her from dying, but at least he did lengthen her life spam. And since he actually succeeded on writing a story that did something good, he decided to start writing again. But he tried to write without the magic, just stories for her to read.

She loved the tragedies he wrote. But she never told him why.

To him she acted as if he was her brother, absolutely not her lover.

She kissed him on his cheek, slept next to him and made him dinner.

But that was all he got from her. He loved her nevertheless.

People started to greet him and some even asked him how he was doing. His brother left again, like he always did, he had told him: 'I still think you are too old for her.' And he had winked at him. Edel still stayed with them even though she was getting better and better. Thanks to Tutu she changed from a lifeless doll into a caring sister and mother.

January was a happy month for all of them.

He went to her ballet in February. It was a good day. He had just decided to write a story with a girl named Tutu in it, when something happened. He went with Edel, she was even holding his arm and acting nervous. There were a lot of people watching the show that day. He sat down on the second row, they had a perfect view. Tutu danced so beautifully, her figure was still perfect and her skin now had this golden color. When her partner came on stage something changed. She smiled, but not like she had for Drosselmeyer, no, not like she had ever done before. It looked almost childish. The guy she was giving this smile looked very handsome to say the least.

He had this white hair, not grey, but pure white like an angel. He gracefully lifted her and Drosselmeyer spotted a faint blush on Tutu's cheeks. That's when he knew it and it drove him mad little by little. This was the reason she couldn't love him like he loved her.

HE was the reason. Drosselmeyer had to get some air so when the people started clapping he made his way out of the building with Edel following him. "You know who that person is?" he asked Edel while refusing to look at her. "She didn't tell you?" Edel asked nervously, "he is the prince of the ballet, his name is Mythos".

He didn't come out of his room for days. He went out once with some wood, a saw and some other tools. After that he stayed away for 2 weeks. Edel brought him bread and told him Tutu was getting weaker and weaker and she had almost begged him to come home. He didn't. After five days he came home, but it was too late. Edel had returned to the way she was before: lifeless. She was sitting next to Tutu's bed, even though she wanted to, she could not cry, for all she was still just a doll.

Tutu was not dead jet. Drosselmeyer went crazy, from the moment he saw her lying in his bed. He decided to write her one last story. The perfect story in which she would die without pain, she would vanish. He took revenge on Mythos by making him a part of the story, he made him an immortal creature without feelings. He wanted the story to be true and so just like what had happened before the story became reality.

What he didn't know was that Mythos was the son of a very important officer.

And that Mytho's father knew people called the Bookmen. So after Mythos disappeared and they found out that Drosselmeyer had wrote an story, Drosselmeyer's hands were cut off before he could finish the last few pages. Even though he had no hands his life went on until he died years later. (The puppet Edel disappeared together with him).

Thank goodness that the last sentences he had written were:

**"**_**And so Drosselmeyer would, after his dead, continue the story he had begun to write. He would do this from within the story itself. The story named "Princess Tutu".** _

* * *

><p><em>Yeah, I know Fakir gave Mythos his name but I like it more than Siegfried sooo.<em>

_I have always liked Drosselmeyer and I always wondered why he ignored the relationship (if you can call it that) Fakir and Ahiru had. Somehow I got the feeling I forgot something. I think it would be funny if Fakir was the grandson of his brother and his brother had the same powers as Drosselmeyer had. Or maybe Drosselmeyer found a real wife after Tutu and made her pregnant or something._

_Excusé-moi pour my bad English, I write as good in English as I would in French (it would just take me a lot of time to write one "good" chapter in French, since I'm still learning) XD._

_And I'm Dutch so I could post this in Dutch but then no one would be able to read it._

_Please help me improve my English by pointing out my mistakes (A)._

_I do **not** own Princess Tutu…._

_I have loved the stars to fondly to be fearful of the night. _


End file.
